ONS: Farmhouse Fomori
3/14/2006
06:07 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (99% full).
It is currently 17:58 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 14 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.83 and steady, and the relative humidity is 85 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.)
Barnyard
The lane wends its way back and around the farmhouse to here, where it widens into a broad, grassy sward contained only by the woods which encircle it on three sides. Buildings break up the purity of the landscape: an open-sided structure which serves as a garage and the big barn, empty of livestock, to the east. A good-sized vegetable and herb garden furrows the land south of the barn, while a pyramid-like pile of rocks, of similar consistency to the gravel of the lane, rests a few yards south of the garage.
North of the buildings, the fields have long been fallow, hastening a conversion from farmland to natural prairie. A sliding glass door allows admittance to the farmhouse, the interior obscured by Levolor(tm) blinds in a wood-grain pattern. The lane leads out around the house to the southwest. The discerning can just barely pick out the beginnings of a faint path into the woods towards the southeast.
Contents:
Abraxas
Obvious exits:
FIelds BArn Farmhouse Lane Woods
The night has yet to come, but the partly cloudy skies above cast a grey pallor upon the world before it turns to black. The farmhouse is normally this quiet, really. Well, that is, quiet save for the quiet sniggering of some voices and the sound of a beer can popping open. After that is the sound of a can being shaken, but it's not a beer can. Sounds like aerosol.
Just his luck, Abraxas is putting in an appearance tonight. A rather rare event, at least of late, and if one were to judge by his grim, scowling expression, not one he's really enthusiastic about either. The Shadow Lord metis is in the process of crossing the overgrown fields, moving at a direct angle toward the barn.
As fate would have it, another metis is on his way out the farmhouse doors. Jonathan is making his way to the porch for some fresh air when he catches the sound of mischief. A frown creases his features, and he steps off the porch.
With the barn being as big as it is, there's not but the sound of it. Continued, quiet laughing and the spray of aerosol. More can shaking ensues, but there's the sound of someone shushing others. As Abraxas makes his way through the field, he doesn't see anyone. It's Jonathan who spots the quickly disappearing half-a-head of hair around the corner of barn on the lee side of it.
Abraxas comes to an abrupt halt at the alien noise, and it isn't just his face, but his entire demeanor that darkens. He starts to turn his head, as if searching for the source, when further distraction comes in the form of another metis. He stares at the stranger, narrow eyed and tight-browed, before the shushing noises tug at his attention again, and he seems to tear himself between both points of suspicion.
Jonathan, upon catching the sight of secretive movement, becomes intrigued. So much so that he picks up his pace, moving to see just what lies on the other side of the barn. Abraxas remains unnoticed at the moment.
Perhaps it was simply the wind. There aren't any other sounds coming from the barn now, though there is the quiet chirp of a bird serenading the coming night before it goes to sleep.
Jonathan is the visible threat, and so it's to Jonathan that Abraxas goes, moving swiftly and with a rather predatory stalk. He's not exactly silent, but neither are his footsteps terribly audible. What he intends to do when he reaches the other metis remains to be seen, though his temper seems to be souring by the moment.
Jonathan moves to where the strangers were presumably making a mess of things, trying to assess the damage done. As he does, he happens to notice Abraxas arriving. He stops dead in his tracks, then. The disagreeable expression on the other's face causes him to tense up, and a frown to tug at his features. With a curt nod, he turns back to the task at hand.
Not quite there yet, really. Walking from the farmhouse to the barn is quite a few feet, through the barnyard, and Abraxas is able to converge and intercept Jonathan. In the meantime, the sounds of silence continue to be the only symphony heralding the night.
Abraxas doesn't seem inclined to let it go at that. His lips part, if only, only barely, and the voice that slides out of that tiny opening might be the hissing, bastard offspring of a twisted whisper. "Who are /you/?"
Jonathan turns around yet again. "Jonathan Black. Pleased to meet you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to investigate what that commotion was. It didn't sound legal." This is all set in a frosty, clipped tone. To top it off, it's a British accent. "Come along, if you want." He turns and moves again, at a jog now.
Whatever the commotion was, it renews again within a moment's notice of the renewed sounds of Jonathan's approach towards the barn. "Shit, they're on to us! Run!" The alarm isn't so much so as the sound of a young adult male who's telling his buddies that the jig is up and they should hot foot it out of there. The sounds of multiple cans hitting dirt follow with the not so sudden sight of the silhouetted forms of four guys high tailing it for the gravel lane. One of them laughs, a pitching grating sound like a strangled crow.
The Shadow Lord seems momentarily taken aback, but it's only half a moment before he's dogging Jonathan's heels, peering into the dark while hissing out of the side of his mouth in that same bastard whisper, "Do you have permission to be here?" The question isn't quite so loaded with temper--he seems uncertain, either of his relative position, or Jonathan, or this entire affair, or possibly all three. And then the guys break from cover, and it's like a dog straining at a short chain just before Abraxas jerks forward after them.
Jonathan starts to run when the new figures appear. "I spoke to Helen and Clemency," he responds out of the corner of his mouth. "Talk after we've apprehended them." He leans forward, one arm rising to hold his hat on his head as he does.
The foursome are quick, to an extent. The smallest of them is out in front, bolting for the car and reaching into a pocket for keys. The slowest is at the back, but he is the biggest of them all. Too big. At least a few inches taller half a foot taller, and maybe twice as much wider than the others. "Fuck it! Why should we run?" he yells out in a deep and reverberating voice. The two in between slow as well, looking at each other and laughing momentarily, like they'd lost their minds. "That's right, enit?" "We don't have to run from these suckaz!"
As Abraxas is the first to charge forward, he is the first to get within leaping range for a tackle of the big guy - if such a feat is possible. The metis Shadow Lord leaps indeed, and gets in contact with a gigantic, very hard fist to the side of the head. It sends the metis tumbling down and laid out cold on the gravel. The long, black snake's tongue inside the ahroun's mouth flops out loosely, partly.
Jonathan lets out as close to a groul as his form can accomplish, charging into the gap left by Abraxas move. He tries to ram his shoulder into the large man's gut with a grunt.
Out a little ways from the leeside of the barn, a group of shadowy figures are currently engaged in chasing. Well, the chasing has stopped by now, sort of. There is one last figure running down the lane, followed with a stranger's grating shout of, "Get the car!" by one of the stopped figures.
"Hooooly shit! Lookit that guy's tongue!" With Abraxas laid out cold, and Jonathan coming to bodily tackle the guy who must be at least fifty pounds heavier, the Silver Fang thuds dully into the guy, who only grunts and takes a step back. It's like football players hitting the large sack. Only this one is different. "Ouch," the large man grins with a violent glint to his eyes. And just like that, Jonathan is met with a similar face-busting punch to the face. Only this time, he can feel sharp barbs stab into his skin and send up waves of pain as he goes sprawling onto the gravel.
Masao is jogging up the lane from the road beyond, arms folded up to her sides and pumping slightly with the effort. She is almost to the aforementioned car by the time the shouting reaches her ears. Bringing her head up sharply from a slightly downward view, she regards the vehicle and picks up her pace to reach the driver's side door.
If there was a night not to engage in this sort of behavior, it's tonight. Jonathan is unable to keep his hat on his head as he goes sprawling, and so it flies off. His third eye, blinking at the sudden influx of light, is visible in the center of his forehead. There's a wordless cry of pain and rage as the Theurge swells upward. He easily gains six inches in height and quite a bit in mass. "You're not going anywhere," he growls to the group.
"Ohoho, delicious!" exclaims one of the smaller young men who sports a nice pair of sunglasses and an SCCU jacket, taking a step back at the sight of the theurge growing up. "Hit 'em!" "Ya, I got it!" The left of the two who hang back behind the huge barb-fisted man steps forward and glares straight at the theurge. In the pain and rage was hardpressed then, now it multiplies ten fold as Jonathan feels his body overcome with wracking pain. It feels like silver needles stinging into every cell of his body, thoroughly immobilizing and wiping away any other thought of attack.
As the Gnawer sprints up the lane, she comes into contact with a skinny looking young man, couldn't be more than just year or so into college, if that. "Shit!" he exclaims in that wheedly voice of his, as he pauses there briefly in indecision of what to do.
Jonathan's menace is suddenly rather completely undermined. The Silver Fang crumples to the ground, curling into a fetal position and trying to make any sound past the constriction of his throat.
Masao is not the most formidable of opponents at first glance, but she greets the epithet with a wide grin. "Where ya goin', buuuuuddy? Someone throwin' a party an' you wanna bail?" The Ragabash edges forward slightly, trying to keep herself between the young man and his means of escape. "Wanna play? Mmmmmm?"
Laughter ensues, deep in the throat of the biggest, and the mid-toned sneering of Shades. "Now that's how I like 'em. Hold still now." Stepping forward, Brute takes on a malicious grin at the helpless Glabro before he grabs the Fang by the collar and lays into the theurge without mercy. Once, twice, his barbed fist punches hard into the theurge, ripping open new puncture holes. Shades and the other sits back and watches the show, laughing with abandon.
Twitching back and forth in a brief moment's indecision, the small one grips the keys in hand and doesn't answer the Gnawer. He bolts to one side, then in, intent on charging the ragabash.
Enough is obviously quite enough. The pain recedes, only to be replaced by something that feels like a sliver of what was there only instants ago. Jonathan comes back to himself during that beating. And then, incredibly, a vicious smile appears on his beaten face. He reaches within himself, calling on one of the more interesting tidbits in his bag of tricks.
Masao watches the oncoming charge with that same grin, though the glint in her eyes that goes with it is certainly far from playful. She simply stands there and lets him run at her if he will, arms held out slightly from her sides and posture lowered. If he comes close to striking distance, then she moves, diving for his legs as if to embrace them.
There's the slightest rumble from the otherwise immobile heap of Shadow Lord. He gives a twitch, and that tongue gives a likewise movement, before sliding as fast as possible behind teeth that clench instantly behind it. Abraxas doesn't so much stand up as spring diagonally forward, teeth bared, eyes narrowed to furious slits, at the first figure he sees that is not a) Jonathan, or b) Skinny Gnawer.
And the night just managed to settle in, too. Just as Brute's bony-barbed fist is about to smash Jonathan's nose in, the Glabro'd Fang slaps the hulking fomor a good one and lights up the night. A ball of flame poofs into existence singeing all of the guy's short hair into wispy scorched black, as well as taking off what eyebrows and eyelashes he might've had. With a roar of pain, he releases the theurge and stumbles back, briefly blinded.
The gout of fire gives Abraxas a relatively decent flash of view for his opponent of choice, and through blood and brief flash of flame, he manages to target Shades. The sunglassed one, though, sees him coming on like a freight train and tips his glasses down to get a good look at the Shadow Lord. "WHOA, there," he comments, eyes meeting eyes. It's enough to make the ahroun screech to a halt as an unshakeable wave of terror overcomes him.
It's a question of who's lower to the ground, and in the end it's Masao. The young Gnawer dives into the charging man, but when she smacks into him and takes him down, he bares his yellowed tobacco stained teeth at her and starts to turn a rather brownish red in color.
Jonathan has what's most certainly a malicious smile on his face. Apparently not willing to let it end at that, the Silver Fang boils up into Crinos. And in the same moment, he tries to relieve Brute of his entrails, making them extrails. One pale, taloned paw lashes out at Brute's stomach.
Masao doesn't waste time on an outward reaction, since her dance partner seems to have taken the lead, or so the impact of their bodies would let on. She slides upwards into Glabro and draws a fist back to send driving forward into the closest part of Skinny.
Abraxas looks as though he would very much like to move, more backward than forward, as a change, but the metis seems positively riveted, motionless, and therefore, utterly useless for the moment.
As the Silver Fang boils up into crinos, the guy from before steps forward with another intense glare. This time, though, the pain doesn't quite hit until after a five-set of claws rips into the gut of the brute. The force of the blow and pain send Brute stumbling back, roaring in agony that seems a bit too masochistic to be any true indication of how much it hurt. "I'll KILL YOU!" he cries with a maniacal glee, as quicker than the theurge's eyes can follow, the seams of the man's clothing pop and break with an evolution of more barbs. Lune-Calmer is hit with two blows. The first is mental, as the pain returns again, and the second is much more physical, as he can feel himself being shoved into, and a large short-sword sized knee barb stabs deep into his guts.
Abraxas gets a nice grin from Shades, as the one with the Wyrm's eyes steps towards him. "Mm hm, you'll make a nice big meal alright." The smile is way too pointy toothed to be anything but wrong. And as the mouth opens, rows and rows of serrated teeth show themselves. The Shadow Lord can't even move as in moments, he can see the inside of the mouth coming inevitably for him, devouring his head and distending out to fit. Must be how mice feel when they see the snake...
The Gnawer ragabash's punch connects.. with mud. Or it would seem like mud. Thick, tarlike, her fist disappears into the face of the small guy and sticks there, as the rest of his body dissolves into a thick gelatinous puddle and starts to climb up her own body, seeping into her clothing and touching cooly against her skin.
Lune-Calmer shakes off the pain of the barbed buried in his gut, forcing it away with a growl. ~DIE!~ Waxing eloquent in his pain, he strikes at the fomor twice in succession. He trusts the barbs to keep the connection and make a dodge impossible. He puts everything he has into the attack, trying to decimate his foe in a sheer display of violence.
Oh. Gross. The disgust on Masao's face is as plain as day as she starts to scoot back, trying to haul her fist free with all of her strength. "Get the fuck offa me, you overgrown, dai-yur-ret-ick, jell-o turd! Get off!" she snarls, playfulness quickly being exchanged for anger.
It's like lighting a match in a room full of kerosene and thick fumes. Abraxas goes from motionless human to raging frothing beast in a single blink, both sets of claws churning into a ginsu blur. The general aim is Shades' throat, but the metis isn't being terribly particular about what part of the fomor he shreds just now.
Scowling, the fomori on Lune-Calmer are anything but. Claws connect again and again, as Lune-Calmer willfully impales himself upon the body of the Brute. The pair fly into a flurry of attack and counterattack, as for seconds the theurge is matched speed for speed. On one particularly violent attack, the big guy's fist comes out and punches Lune-Calmer right in the left eye. He can feel the barb from inside burst the delicate tissue, sending ichor and blood streaming down his furred face. The claws have done their damage though, as the theurge's strikes accurately and tears off a great portion of the Brute's face. The fomor collapses into a growing puddle of nasty, leaving the MindBlaster quite perturbed as to a means of defending himself.
Abraxas' head is consumed and as he shifts and rages, ten thousand tiny cuts scrape at his fur and skull. It hurts like a bitch, especially when the metis is slowly losing air. As he tears into Shades, who has seemingly entered a trancelike state of consumption, the fomor is left at the mercy of the frenzied ahroun. Shades is torn, limb from blood limb, until he's but a ragdoll of skin, bone, and bloodied cloth still clinging to the Lord's head and almost down to his collarbone.
Masao.. isn't getting much progress. Her attempts to pull her fist back are not exactly successful, as she feels the squelching 'mud' clinging onto her and slipping further up and down her body, underneath her clothing, up the spine, into her hair...
Bitter-Harvest gives a bestial shriek, a thing which is incredibly muffled given that his head is still encased in Shades' mouth. He reaches up, trying to pull the jaws open in order to free himself. He's not exactly ginger about the action, but he's trying to avoid cutting himself further.
Lune-Calmer is left with only two eyes left, and an almost incochate, mindless rage. His body is ragged, but there's something inside that will just not give up. He runs at Abraxas and tries to free the Shadow Lord by the simple expedient of tearing the vile ragdoll into, grabbing onto the two most solid parts and tearing them away.
Masao makes a sound that's somewhere between a defiant snarl and a terrified cry, eyes squeezing shut and setting her face in a rictus of frustrated disgust. She writhes in place for a moment before making a try for shifting down to lupus for the chance at getting free that way.
With a nasty splurching, squishy sound not too unlike those of the sounds of birth, the Silver Fang manages to be the one to free the Shadow Lord from his suffocating, toothy prison. Unfortunately that doesn't come without a price, as the hundreds of tiny teeth shear away a good portion of his fur and skin with it.
Masao is into lupus within minutes, but it doesn't seem to change the conditions much. Her paw is freed of being stuck, but the reddish liquid is sticking on to her like a horrible massage oil that just won't go away. It covers her ears and starts to slip down them while leaking down her cheeks and over her muzzle.
Leaves-None whines loudly and resorts to what most dogs do with wet fur: she shakes. Nose to tail and as hard as she can muster while trying to keep her Rage in check and thusly her sanity.
Lune-Calmer turns back, now that he's finished with his task. Still bleeding from his ruined eye, he shows a toothy snarl. The moment to clear his head seems to have done him good. And Mindblaster becomes the next target of opportunity. Quick as a blink, a streak of silver lunges for the frightened fomor.
Lune-Calmer pages to the room: Sanity check. Two are dead, one's a puddle, and Mindblast is somewhat confused about defending himself, right?
~AGGH!~ The look in Bitter-Harvest's eyes is wild as he is finally freed, and gets no less so when his gaze settles on Lune-Calmer. The Ahroun's teeth are bared into an ugly snarl, with a rather unbecoming bit of slather on his lips and muzzle. For a moment it looks as though he might lunge at the other metis, but then his head snaps sharply to one side, seeking other prey.
Given the forward charging white crinos coming straight for him, Mindblaster stares almost haplessly. One could almost imagine the 'oh shit' that goes right through his head, before the guy suddenly shoots out his hands and grimaces with a final try. The Silver Fang is hit yet again with an inner pain that this time, doesn't relent. Lune-Calmer's form misses steps in his charge, tumbling facefirst into sharp gravel rocks. The fomor takes this opportunity to retreat, after, bolting down the lane.
Abraxas only just manages to avoid frenzying, Rage boiling all the way up his throat and nearly overcoming the rest of him, but he keeps the Beast away. Out of the corner of his eye, the running form of the mindblaster can be seen crunching down the gravel at top speed.
Poor Masao. Resorting to the only tactics she can figure, at the very least it manages to get a fair portion of the puddle off. The red and brown liquid is sent flying, but only about half. The mudlike plasma splots on the ground and starts to coalesce towards its point of origin yet again. The rest of the ragabash's body is still dripping with stickiness.
Long distance to Lune-Calmer: Sai laughs, feels sorry to keep hitting you with this. XD Blinding pain, probably enough to want to pass out on. Or at least, throw up. Alas, I can only describe it as severe cramping.
Lune-Calmer writhes on the ground, gritting out some very profane words. In the Mother Tongue no less! He clenches around himself yet again, momentarily out of the fight. ~Get..him!~
A running target is a tempting target, especially to a near frenzying Garou, and Bitter-Harvest snaps after the mindblaster without a single hesitation. He's moving before the Fang's order, but the intent is just the same--rend and maim.
Well, that did more than Leaves-None thought it might but not nearly enough to calm the Gnawer any. Bounding and prancing out of the rough splatter zone she's made, another hearty shake attempt is given to the accompaniment of a low-throated growl. What will rid me of you?
While the Fang is still incapacitated, the other metis Lord is off and charging. Blaster is as quick as his attacks, charging right past the poor Gnawer in his flight. Abraxas is hot on his heels, only a couple crinos lengths behind. But the Gnawer is in dire straights as well, as if the growl triggered the remaining plasma to coalesce in front of her face. There is no reply from the liquified fomor, as it seeks to cover the rest of her sensory world without mercy. The small splashes wrung away are quickly returning, pooling beneath the lupus.
The pain ends for the Silver Fang. Looking like fifteen miles of bad road, the Theurge approaches the beleaguered Bone Gnawer. While the fomor coalesces, the Silver Fang calls again on his powers. A look of sharp concentration writes itself large across his face.
A sharp yelp is all that makes it out before Leaves-None loses immediate access to air. Scrabbling backwards in futility, she whips her head back and forth frantically, losing all sense of direction in the process.
There's a notable twitch of the Shadow Lord's ears, coupled by an even more ugly twist to the snarl on his muzzle, but he doesn't hesitate, and he doesn't slow down. The fleeing fomor is like a red flag, and if anything he puts a measure of extra effort into the race, trying to run the man down before he can get too far away.
The Fang once more calls on the elements, and Masao's dancing away gives her a clear just in the nick of time. The moment Lune-Calmer's clawtips touch the puddle, it goes up in flames like gasoline to a lit match. Finally for the first time, there is a squeal from the liquid substance that sounds like the high pitch whistling of a kettle put to boil. The mud on Masao's face shudder violently and falls off in seconds, rolling back towards the burning puddle as it bubbles and sizzles.
The Shadow Lord is on the mindblaster in sheer seconds, as human legs are no match for the long stride of a crinos in pursuit. The fomor is tackled down, face hitting gravel and likely bruising. "Get the fuck off me!" he screams, just before Abraxas' claws sink in. Then it turns into a hideous scream of pain that attacks the minds of all around within hearing distance.
Lune-Calmer's clawed hands dive over his ears, for all the good it does. He flings himself back from the flaming puddle, howling out in agony. ~Make it stop!~
Bitter-Harvest matches the shriek with his own furious, pain-filled cry. He jerks his claws back with the instinctual desire to cover his ears, but it's a motion that only lasts for a single blink, as he succumbs to the other, more bestial instinct--that of ripping the source of that noise to itty, bitty, teensy bits in a maddened, clawing fury.
Leaves-None is inhaling a newly-freed breath just in time to let out a pained whine and repeat the almost frenzied thrashing about of her furred head. Stop! Stop! STOP! STOP!
Though it only lasts for a few seconds, the painful cry dies away into a residual echo as Abraxas' claws and teeth completely demolish the fomor trapped beneath him. Not too long after, as the burning puddle sizzles and pops, the night has returned to its usual symphony of quiet. The bodies of the fomor lie along various points in the gravel, dead and bleeding ichor into the ground.
Lune-Calmer pants on the ground, not quite willing or able to get up just yet. He's at least able to pull himself to all four. He forces himself into the less obtrusive Homid form, cupping his ruined left eye as he does so.
Leaves-None stops her dancing and writhing and hangs head and tail low, ears pinned back as she trembles all over. A few half-hearted shakes of her fur fail to expel any residual ick from her body. One quick glance shows her eyes that the mud-like stuff is gone, at least physically.
Bitter-Harvest drags his claws a few more times through the remains of the mindblaster, as if to make sure he weren't just dead, he were extra, extra dead. Then the Ahroun rears back, still snarling, and utters a wordless howl upward.
Having shifted into homid shortly before reaching the edge of the woods, Vera bursts into view. Huffing, puffing, and attempting to catch her breath. "What the fuck?!" She croaks, face red from exertion.
Jonathan looks over at the exclamation, wincing at the sound. He scrambles as swiftly as he can to retrieve his hat and shove it down over his head. He looks a bit better, moment by moment. He remains silent, not answering Vera's question.
The bodies of three, or at least what should be an amalgamation of three, lie in various states of gross. The puddle is still burning, though the flames have died down at least a good extent. A big brute of a fomor, clothing ripped in places where bony, sharp spears protrude from his body lies in the middle of the gravel lane, and not far from there a half of a torso clothed in an SCCU jacket, flaccid at its enormously distended, lamprey-jawed mouth and dead orangey-green eyes dully staring at the heavens. The other half is nearby. Further out underneath Abraxas are the broken, bloodied remains of what looks to be like just a human.
The Gnawer's posture hunches over a bit more as reality seeps back into her consciousness and she recognizes the new voice. Leaves-None is not sure, Alpha. One came to find something and found this instead. The ragabash lifts her head slightly to look over at Vera as she regains a little more control over herself.
Bitter-Harvest pulls himself back to relative sanity with a considerable amount of effort. The metis is frothing, his face a patch of ripped skin, missing fur, and various bodily fluids, and his eyes settle somewhat distractedly on Vera. ~...Fomor,~ he grates, stating the obvious. ~Found them by the barn.~
Child-Holder reaches the barnyard at a full sprint, her tail flagging high. As she sights Garou, she gives a single sharp howl, slowing only marginally as she draws nearer. What happened? What is going on?
Vera's lips twitch in a snarl, her eyes going steely and cold. "Fuck," Vera exclaims once again. "You," she points at the Gnawer. "Scout the area. Make certain that there are no humans around that could have seen this. Abraxas and..." The Alpha's eyes narrow as she glares at Jonathan. "Move the bodies into the Barn. We can leave them there, while we get rid of the remaining mess." Laura's arrival causes the Adren to spin and face her. "Everyone in homid or Glabro to move the bodies. We don't want to risk a breech any more then we have to. Everyone start moving, NOW!!"
Jonathan cringes even further under Vera's glare, bursting into movement at the yell. He grabs for the Brute's body, moving to carefully drag the barbed creature into the barn. It takes longer than it should, due to the slowly healing wounds.
Leaves-None gives a small chuff of assent and takes off on the scouting, pausing briefly in mid-run to shake one back leg as if there was something attached to it.
Bitter-Harvest's shift is jerky, but swift enough, though he looks little less feral in glabro. He begins gathering the...bits, as well as he can, and when he has all he can carry he sets swiftly toward the barn.
Child-Holder skids, ears laying back, lips twitching up. She bares her teeth a moment before getting ahold of herself. Her lips drop, though it's slow, and she backs away. Then she runs into the Barn, emerging shortly in her human form. She looks around for some way to assist, moving to get out of the way.
Vera continues to scowl, looking over the mess. "Laura, do you know how to sense the Wyrm's taint and Cleanse?"
For those that care to look on the side of the barn, there's yellow, green, purple and black spray paint cans. A nice bunch of graffiti, tags, seemingly meaningless but there's things like oh, a black and purple blotchy penis with a yellow happy face, green eyed and devious looking, taking it like a blow job. For Masao as she scouts, she comes upon the keys on a ring.
Jonathan, when he sees the abomination on the side of the barn, stops dead. "Sweet mother of Gaia. These monsters did all this just for that? Are all your enemies here this...juvenile?"
Abraxas emerges, minus fomori bits, looking very bloody and very put out. He pauses at Jonathan's remark, lips twitching, a remark /clearly/ sitting there, waiting to come out. Good boy, he doesn't say anything, but continues back toward the site of his last kill to make sure he hasn't missed anything.
"I do, Vera-rhya. Should I move farther afield, or stay here?" Laura stops to stare at the graffiti a moment, then snaps her attention back to the Adren. "I should be able to manage a thorough Cleansing, if this is all there is." She's already pulling her knife out of her pocket.
Leaves-None gives the graffiti a curl of her lip when she passes by it, then continues on. When she finds the keys, she gathers them up carefully in her mouth and brings them with her. Stopping by the truck the fomor left behind, she hops up and puts her paws on the side of it to look inside the cab and bed. Making note of what she sees there, she hops down and finishes her circuit before ducking into the barn. Coming out in homid, she immediately heads for Vera and clears her throat tensely when she's within earshot.
"Stop talking and keep working," Vera snaps violently, as Jonathan speaks. "Please do Laura and make certain that no taint remains on the bodies. I would like to see them turned to ash if possible, buried if not. Also, check them for ID. Everyone else, find yourself a shovel. We're going to turn over the bloodied soil and hide any sign of what just happened."
Jonathan looks as if he just got hit with a rolled up newspaper. "Yes," he responds. He goes to gather another armful of fomori, only to be confronted by the Puddle. He looks at it for a moment and then simply moves back to the barn, looking for a shovel.
Abraxas's eyes flick sharply between Vera and Jonathan as he turns back around, expression hardening even further. There's no argument on his part, though, no delay, and he trails the other metis at a trot back into the barn, to look for same.
"ID is gonna be hard for one of 'em...seein's how he's kinda *swallow* a puddle." Masao says quickly as she nears, holding out the set of keys to the Alpha. "They came in a truck parked out there, found the keys, Vera-rhya. There's a whole fuckin' -shitload- of beer in there...and I rec'nize the label."
Vera winces and takes the keys. "Wonderful," she mutters. "Alright, what brand?"
Cristofer peers out the back door nerviously, since things have been quiet, too quiet since the sudden explosion of noise and chaos.
"Mister Fister. Hadn't seen that particular brand o' shit pop up in weeks. Ain't good news." Masao says, gesturing to where the truck is haphazardly parked. "Outside'a that an' the graffiti the area's clear." That job done, she backs up and starts to follow the others in their search for implements of digging.
[You paged Masao with 'IDs - 'Shades' is otherwise known as Ethan Samstown. He looked like an average student at SCCU, at least you'll know later when you have a chance to look at his photograph in some light. The ID of Puddle is Chester Clay, and you can find it in the truck. Wallet fell out of his pocket before he got out. Truck is registered to Clay according to the registration inside the glove box.'. You paged Masao with 'The other two are not identifiable.'.]
Shovels are easily found. The fomor puddle has all but burned out, with a nice layer of solid crust laying over the pool. It smells like burnt hair and flesh, oddly enough.
Jonathan soon comes out with a shovel in hand. He frowns when confronted by the puddled fomori once more. His lip curls up in disgust, and then he simply takes a shovelfull of it. There's the plesant sound of crust cracking when he does. And then it's back to the barn to dump it with the rest of the bodies. All the while, one hand clutches at his hat. He completely ignores the trail of blood and viscous goop running down his cheek.
Vera sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, all on her attention on the Gnawer. "Alright. You've had trouble with this brand before? Its been turning people into Fomori? Is there a factory that makes the stuff in town?"
Abraxas seems to be content to play Jonathan's shadow now. His dark, stalking, scowling shadow who looks to be getting more and more bad tempered with every minute passed. Like the Fang, he shovels some goop, then turns for the barn. A brief glance, just as sharp as the first, flicks toward Vera as he goes.
Cristofer frowns deeply at the grisley scene, wanting no part of it whatsoever. He slips out the backdoor as quietly as possible and begins to make his way hastily towards his car, fumbling to get his keys out.
Masao pauses and turns back, trying to keep her expression as even as possible. "Yeah, that's what I gather. I don't know anyone's found out where it was comin' from. The Black Fury, Leslie, was on'a the people workin' on it, I think...but it kinda dropped off the radar. Oh, almost forgot." She digs in her sleeves and produces a pair of IDs. Peering at them before handing them over to Vera, she makes a surprised noise, "WEll...one of these -is- for the damned puddle. Only found two, so no clue who the other two are."
Laura looks over the assorted pieces and parts, then licks her lips. She turns and walks into the woods, returning some time later with a branch. When the bodies are gathered, she begins the Rite. The stick she starts to wrap with cloth torn from her shirt. The Fury mutters to herself throughout, eyes focused entirely on her task. She passes her knife over the stick, three times, speaking a muddle of languages. Then she hunkers down, using her knife to cut a line along the ground near the body bits. Her breathing takes a strange rhythm, her words an odd cadence. She pulls a match from her pocket, and in one smooth motion strikes it and lights her torch-stick. She holds it over the bodies, her words turning to a growl that rises and falls, threatening the spirits of the Wyrm that may linger around the corpses. The Fury stalks in a circle around them, spitting on each one three times, jabbing them with the fiery stick at each admonition. Finally, she looses a strangled, eerie sound, swinging the torch down with all the strength in her arm. It hits the bodies with a dull 'thwack', punctuated by a sharp growl/yelp from the theurge's homid throat.
Jonathan pauses as the ritual takes place in his task. It's a moment before he shakes himself off and moves to overturn a partch of bloodied soil. He's too distracted by the ritual to notice that Abraxas is shadowing him at the moment.
Vera simply grunts and after taking a quick look at the ID, shoves them into her pocket. "Alright. I want you to head into the city and pass the word around that this stuff has re-appeared. I want to see the Gnawers and the Walkers looking for this beer factory by morning. Most of all, make certain that you notify Requiem, as their territory includes the SCCU campus and the stuff is likely to show up there."
Abraxas breaks away from Jonathan as the task turns to soil turning, choosing his own spot of ick to work at. And work he does, stabbing the ground multiple times with the shovel blade, mixing up the dirt, and finally turning the whole thing over several times. The stabbing motions seem to intensify his bubbling anger, rather than relieve it.
"Sure thing, Vera-rhya, will do. I'll run back right 'way." Masao says with a short nod before she turns her attention to the ritual at hand. She does not actually move until the whole thing is over with. Only then does she say something quick about needing to wash her hands and ducks into the farmhouse for a few minutes. When she comes back out, it's with a smallish jar of something in her hands that she shoves down into one of her sleeves.
Laura lets the stick fall onto the bodies, eyes temporarily wide and disconnected, nostrils flaring. "The Wyrm is gone," she announces, after turning her head this way and that. She sinks to a crouch, blinking to regain her normal vision.
Cristofer presses the unlock button on his keys, to which his car chimes happily. The kin then proceeds to scramble into his car, and hastily start the engine.
"Laura. Sorry to bother you once again," Vera calls into the barn. "But there is a truck to be disposed of. Its is also full of beer that the Gnawer thinks may be tainted and turned the humans into Fomor."
Masao's eyes light up brightly when the sound of the engine alerts her to the kin and his car. Looking hopeful, she beats feet toward it with all available alacrity. "Hey! Wait a sec, there!"
Laura stares at the heap of smoldering bodies, then nods. "The corpses are lit. Someone should watch to make sure the fire doesn't escape," she replies to Vera, getting to her feet and dusting off her knees. She walks out, left leg a little stiff, turning to head in the direction of the truck. "How 'disposed of' does the truck need to be?" she asks, eyeing the vehicle up, already extending her senses again to detect any Wyrm in the vehicle or its vicinity.
Stab, stab, stabstabstab. Abraxas is busying himself with yet another ground stain, glowering.
Jonathan, too, finds a new patch to work on, tilling the soil to get rid of the stains as best he can. Every once in a while, Jonathan looks towards Vera with an uncertain look on his face.
Cristofer notices someone running towards the car, and too frightened to wait and see who it is just floors it. The car's wheels spin frantically spewing gravel into the air, as the car speeds off like a bat out of hell.
Jonathan winces as a spray of gravel fountains into the air. "Who in the hells is -that-?!"
Masao says "Well, fuck me runnin' with a chainsaw..." Masao mutters, holding up on arm before her face to protect it from the gravel. "S'never that easy. C'mon feet, let's get goin'. The road ain't gonna shorten itself." Making a grumpy face, the Gnawer shrugs and starts down the lane at a trot."
"Gnawer, hold," Vera orders. "Laura can give you a lift. Laura, is the beer tainted?"
"It's unclear, but I'm prepared to assume," Laura replies, after her Sensing is done. "The truck, however, is clean. Masao, I'll drive you in." She shakes her hair out.
Masao pauses at the order and waits, nodding as the truck is cleared and heading for it. "Thanks bunches. Walkin' ain't bad, but it takes a while."
Abraxas moves onto yet another spot, spending even more time chopping at this one than the last few. At some point during this effort, he's gone and slipped back to homid, though the difference, with the blood, punctures, ripped skin, and curled lips, is negligible.
"I'd recommend wearing gloves and either leaving the car near the school campus, or the junkyard," Vera states, offering Laura the car keys. "The beer should probably be poured out after being cleansed and the remains left in some dumpster."
Laura nods quickly. "I will." She glances at the Gnawer, then at the truck. "I'll do the Rite shortly. I just need to regain my concentration," she says.
Jonathan scowls down at the ground he's mutilating, lean features turning hard. "Fucking children," he might be heard to mutter by someone paying attention.
"Abraxas," Vera calls out. "Come here please. I'd like to to keep an eye on the bodies. Make certain that they burn fully and that they don't set anything else on fire. Dig a small moat of dirt out around them."
"You, new person," Vera continues, not even watching to see if Abraxas is doing what he is told. "Who are you?"
Abraxas slaps the flat of his shovel blade against the dirt and moves forward, like an obedient, if highly resentful dog. He begins following Vera's instructions, teeth bared.
Jonathan looks up from his stranglehold on the shovel. "Jonathan Black," he answers, simply. "And I heard someone call you 'Vera-rhya'. You're the Alpha of the Sept?" He lets go of the tool and moves over.
Vera lifts her chin, all but looking down her nose at Jonathan. "I am. Mind giving me the rest of your name, outsider?"
"Not at all, Vera-rhya." The Theurge inclines his head slightly to her. "I am Lune-Calmer, Theurge and Cliath of the First Tribe. A member of House Gleaming Eye and candidate for the Moon Lodge. Formerly a member of the Sept of the Riven Shell in Cornwall. Son of Erick Red-Sky-at-Dawn and Elena Winter's-Child. And I am a metis." The last is said firmly, and he squares his shoulders.
Vera glowers at the Silver Fang, clearly sizing him up. "And what is your purpose in coming here?"
Abraxas begins sprinkling a shovel-ful of dirt around the bodies, though his head is turned, and he's obviously listening. His demeanor shouldn't be capable of being more sour and angry, and yet it somehow manages.
Jonathan is careful to keep his demeanor submissive and humble. At least in so much as it's possible for the Silver Fang. "I came here to learn of a cousin who has recently passed on to Gaia's bosom. I also intend to seek to join this Sept, should I be granted the honor." Each word is clipped and precise.
Vera's eyes narrow further. "I see. Have you been checked for taint?"
Jonathan nods. "Yes, Vera-rhya. Blackriver-yuf and Helen-yuf met me on my first night here, and confirmed that I was free of the Wyrm's touch. Helen-yuf brought me here. That was three nights ago. I met with Clemency-rhya earlier this afternoon, and she has acknowledged my presence here."
"And no-one bothered to inform me of your arrival it seems," Vera hisses, sarcasm thick as blood. "But I'm only the Sept Alpha, why should anyone tell me fuck all?!" Vera vents, clearly out of sorts. "Have you been granted guest status, or attempted to set Chiminage with Clemency?"
Jonathan involuntarily winces as he happens to be at the ground zero for some Hiroshima-style sarcasm. "She has suggested that my teaching certain rituals would be acceptable as Chiminage. We're to discuss it when Luna is not so bright in the sky." He seems less and less confident as he goes on talking to the Shadow Lord.
Vera's nostrils flare. "Were you granted guest status?" The Adren snaps, clearly loosing patience. "Have you spoken with the guardians or the Warder at all?"
Jonathan shakes his head, quickly. "I have waited at the farmhouse in the hopes of spotting any of them. Sadly, I think they have remained on the Bawn during this time. I do not wish to trespass to find them." He holds his arms out in a 'what can you do' gesture.
Abraxas has stopped his work, though there is a thin trickle of dirt all around the bodies now. He's not even pretending not to listen, his head is even turned slightly to one side.
Vera's jaw works. "I see." The Adren tone an posturing have gone from aggressive and harsh, to icy cold. "Then I shall grant you Guest status for now and inform the Guardians and Warder of you arrival. You should know shortly if you are allowed on the Bawn or not."
Jonathan seems to be able to handle icy better than aggression. He at least straightens up and nods once more. "Thank you, Vera-rhya. I will remain here in the meanwhile, if that is acceptable."
Vera grunts. "You will stay with Abraxas until morning and maker certain that the bodies burn well, then bury the ash. Once that is done, the two of you will paint over that grafitti. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Garou to find, so I can rip their faces off."
Abraxas gives a single dark, narrow eyed look over his shoulder. It's hard to read, but there's nothing at all pleasant about it. The shovel is hefted, and he steps further into the barn, stabbing once at the floor with the shovel blade.
"Of course, Vera-rhya. Thank you." Saving as much face as possible, the Silver Fang makes his retreat. He moves into the ever-so-welcoming atmosphere of the barn. Burning bodies and Abraxas. It's looking to be a banner night!
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